Tuesday, July 26, 2005

A handful of years ago, on Easter, Uncle Alan and my youngest cousin, Emma, were roughhousing on the floor in my grandma’s living room. Just fucking around. Fun, right?

Somewhere in the midst of their Wrestlemania, Emma tugged on Uncle Alan’s ears.

Now, I was in the room for their entire match, and I never once heard Uncle Alan yelp out in pain.

But, that ear-tugging?

Made him quit the family.

That’s what he said, anyway. That was his cowardly excuse. He blamed it on a 9-year-old with severe emotional and behavioral problems. And never came to another family gathering again.

For a while, we saw him occasionally. He’d drop by our house when Emma was sure not to be around, say hello, pretend like nothing was wrong. He would see Grandma and Grandpa, too.

His visits eventually ceased. No reason. No incident. Maybe I looked at him like I wanted to pull his ears. I honestly have no idea.

I haven’t seen him in over two years. That pisses me off. It angers me. It hurts, to know that he doesn’t give a shit about me, but seeing how his intentional absence eats at Grandma and Mom is what really kills me.

I don’t know if I have ever truly hated anyone. If I have, it’s Uncle Alan.

5
comments:

Whoa. At first I was like, what a crazy guy. Seriously, maybe there's something a little off wire in his brain.

But the AIDS excuse does explain it. What if Emma had tugged so hard, or scratched him, and he'd bled on her? He never could have forgiven himself for putting a little girl at risk. Or the rest of his family. I've heard of this happening before with HIV/AIDS patients.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.